


Bonus Tracks

by 5_senses



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angsty Stuff, Harry Styles (Album), M/M, Rockstar Harry, Smutty stuff, This is kind of a songfic lmao?, fluffy stuff, louis isnt famous, mentions of drug use, the pink album
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5_senses/pseuds/5_senses
Summary: Harry Styles is a rockstar, plain and simple. He's never been in a boyband, he's never been wholesome, and he's never had a beard. From day one, he was sexy and sexually ambiguous, screaming in silk and crying in a cool way. Louis Tomlinson isn't famous, or glamorous. There aren't paparazzi following his every move.They're meant to be anyway.





	1. Track 1: Meet Me in the Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is based off of a song on Harry's album, plus a few bonus tracks. Hence the title.

It was hot. Louis was hot. His whole body was slick with sweat, hair falling and sticking to his forehead, shirt riding up over his waist. He had one hand in the air, the other wrapped around a cocktail glass, and in his chest, he felt the bass. It wasn’t a surprise, when someone came up from behind him, someone a little bigger, a little broader, just as drunk. 

Louis giggled. The soft tip of a nose was nudging against his neck, some slick mouth breathing hot puffs of air against his skin. He ground back against the contact without thinking, feeling hips slot with his, the alcohol and atmosphere imbibing reckless abandon into the very marrow of his bones.

In response, a large hand snaked around and set itself on his stomach, holding him close as the pair bounced to the beat. He felt a wet kiss against the soft spot just behind his ear, and he shivered. Then, he heard five little words.   
“Meet me in the hallway.”  
He turned his head a second too late, finding a broad, retreating back, with a Hawaiian shirt stretched over it and a head of hair that fell down onto it. Something about him looked familiar, his voice sounded familiar, but Louis was too tipsy to place it. 

When he made it out to the hallway, that same Hawaiian shirt was there waiting for him, over long legs and boots. He wore a cross necklace, and he looked like every sin he’d ever committed.   
Harry Styles.   
Without a word, he followed him back to his hotel suite, one hand in his back pocket. 

“I don’t do this often,” said Harry Styles, and Louis figured he was lying. Harry Styles was the ultimate representation of one, single word. Rockstar. There was a list, and it went:

-Elvis Presley  
-Mick Jagger  
-David Bowie  
-Harry Styles

Harry Styles was sexy, and funny, and charismatic. He chewed gum with his mouth open and wore crosses over unbuttoned shirts. He had tattoos. Louis wasn’t one for one night stands, especially not with someone who might give him any number of diseases, but for some reason, he went with it, and he leaned up to kiss him.

He didn’t get what he expected. He expected something rougher, teeth and tongue that wanted to take and claim him. He got soft, plush lips, a little too slick for sobriety, but otherwise measured, and a gentle hand coming to wrap around his jaw and the side of his neck. Louis gasped into his mouth, into Harry Styles’ mouth, his mind screamed, and then he tasted Harry Styles’ tongue for the first time. 

Then Harry Styles stepped away, and he walked to the bathroom, and he had a wee. Then he began to draw them a bath. “What’cha doing?” Louis asked, curious, the first words he’d spoken to him.  
Harry turned and smiled at him. “S’romantic,” he said, tipsy, and then he giggled. “Would you like to do some morphine?”


	2. Track 2: Sign of the Times

Harry Styles wasn’t Harry Styles anymore. He was just Harry. He’d asked for Louis’ number, called the next day, said he’d be in town for a while. He came and he laid in Louis’ bed, sang to him quietly and told bad jokes. They talked, about everything.

Louis and Harry talked about loss, and love, and about long hair and tattoos, about the tan lines on Louis’ skin and the ones that came from Harry’s rings. They talked about addiction.  
“Did you mean it, when you offered me morphine?” He asked, softly, his head resting on Harry’s bare stomach, his lips kissing at butterfly wings. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, and that alone had Louis tearing up, but the conversation didn’t end there. They talked about the industry, about impossible pressure, about living in the three feet by one foot space of a padlocked closet. Louis couldn’t even speak through his tears, and Harry reached down to brush a hand through his hair.  
“Stop your crying,” Harry hummed to him, and coming from anyone else, it would have hurt even more. From Harry, it was the most comforting thing Louis could have heard. “It’s a sign of the times.”

Louis nodded in understanding, and he sniffled. He shifted around, and he crawled up until he could straddle Harry’s chest. “Promise me that one day, you’ll get clean,” he said. He knew that he couldn’t simply demand that he stop, but even an empty promise would comfort him.


	3. Track 3: Carolina

It was 11:09 at night, when Louis’ phone went off. The high pitched single note indicated a text message, and he looked down at it. 

Get ready, look fancy. I’m taking you out. xxx

Louis furrowed his brows. It was from Harry, of course it was, but where could they be going at such an hour? It really didn’t matter, he decided, and swapped his reading glasses for contact lenses. He didn’t exactly need to look fancy, he decided– if Harry said he was in, he could get in anywhere. So he put on black skinny jeans and a white dress shirt, and his only blazer, a safe black. At 11:30, he got a second text, simply the word: Outside. He raced down the stairs, and he ducked into the car Harry had brought. He wouldn’t ever get used to luxury and opulence, to what Harry had access to, he thought. Speaking of.

Harry was wearing a white satin suit, overlaid with a gorgeous, graphite colored floral print, his hair brushed over his shoulder. He was sniffing chronically, but Louis took no notice. It was summertime, and everyone including him had hellish allergies. Immediately, he was in Harry’s lap, with a warm kiss as greeting. “Hi,” he said, his voice a little breathless.   
“Hi,” Harry said, his pupils dilated. 

It was only when they got inside where they were going, a club with gauzy red curtains surrounding booths and rock music playing, did he understand. Louis didn’t try it to impress Harry, he tried it because he wanted to. It had been made perfectly clear, as Harry cut himself a line, that Louis didn’t have to do a thing. Louis took the rolled note from him, and sniffed. He coughed for a moment, wrinkled his nose, and gasped.  
Harry was amused at his reaction.   
“Don’t you just wanna scream?”  
“I wanna scream, yeah!”

“You glad you met Cocaine Carolina?” Harry murmured in his ear, a little while later, when they were naked and sweaty in between the expensive sheets of the hotel room Harry had rented. Louis laughed. 

“She feels so good.”


	4. Track 4: Two Ghosts

Things weren’t always good. This specific day, things hadn’t been good at all. Looking back, neither of them could remember just why the fight had started, but it ended with the neighbors calling the cops. Neither of them were trying to be right, they were trying to be loudest, to own the conversation. The other people who lived in the building weren’t pleased. 

When the cops had seen Harry Styles (The Harry Styles), they turned and left. Late that night, Louis and Harry sat on the kitchen counter. Louis was looking out the window, tearful, and Harry was looking at Louis. Harry was the first one that moved, and it was to retrieve two bottles of water, to soothe their raw throats. He paused.

The fridge light washed over Louis’ face cast him in beauty that was entirely unreal.   
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he shut the door, and he kissed him very gently on the cheek.  
“That’s alright, Styles,” Louis said, and he smiled. “I’m sorry too.”

Harry squeezed his hand, and Louis squeezed back. It had only been two weeks, and he didn’t understand where they were going. He didn’t know what Harry wanted from him. He didn’t know how to say what he really meant. Harry, the poet, he did.

“Just being together… this was all we used to need,” he murmured, and Louis nodded in agreement.   
“It’s okay, Harry. We’ll figure it out.” 

It felt like they had been together for years.


	5. Track 5: Sweet Creature

This time, when Harry took him out, it was the day. Harry drove, his brows furrowed and one eye on the directions he’d looked up on his phone.   
“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” Louis asked, his voice playfully whiny.   
“No, I don’t think so. You’re going to have to find out.”

Louis huffed, but really, he was more than happy to watch Harry drive. Whether he sounded happy or playful or if he was screaming the lyrics to Van Halen, his face remained serious, concentrated on the road and on not getting them lost. Louis liked that. 

When they finally arrived, Louis was in awe. He couldn’t speak, and he could barely breathe, at the raw, natural beauty laid out before him. “So?” Harry asked, as he retrieved a picnic basket, from the trunk of his little blue car. He circled to stand in front of Louis, and he spread his arms out. “Whaddaya think?”  
Beyond him, there was a vast field of wildflowers and tall grass. 

They ran through God’s garden like children, laughing, without a care in the world. They tackled each other into the soft, wild wheat and kissed, teased and tickled each other, and then, when they were winded and rosy cheeked, they set out their picnic, and ate. Tipsy on each other, they laid side by side in the flowers, hands clasped. 

“I feel like I’m at home,” Louis said, and Harry turned to look at him.   
“You are,” he said. “I am, anyway.”  
“Really?” he asked.  
“Of course. Wherever I go, you bring me home.”

Louis realized, just then, that he was in love. When Harry leaned over to kiss him, he realized that he was loved.


	6. Track 6: Only Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Implied smut in this one! More to come very soon.

Louis didn’t like to let Harry spoil him. He had his own money. Some of it. Enough of it. He didn’t like to let Harry rent them expensive hotel rooms, he didn’t like being bought expensive clothes, or expensive meals, or anything expensive, for that matter. But there were certain things he’d never say no to.   
Like, for example, short skirts and lingerie. 

He sat there smoking his cigarette, checking the time, and waiting for Harry to come back. The little outfit he was wearing, lacy panties under a too short skirt that rode up around his spread thighs, had been a gift, left for him in a bag in the very armchair he was sitting. So he put it on.   
There was a knock on the door, a thick knuckles and the dull thud of rings tapping against wood. Louis didn’t respond, and Harry let himself in.

Louis liked attention. He liked getting a reaction. He liked having eyes on him, to be desired. Harry gave him a reaction. Harry licked his lips, and he leaned back against the door, and Louis took another drag from his cheap cigarette. Then, after a long, appreciative glance, he dropped to his knees. Louis spread his legs farther and grinned, then lifted one leg to rest on the arm of the chair. 

Harry made his approach, crawling like a panther across the wooden floor. He had a peculiar way of moving, both lumbering and graceful, his knuckles rather than his palms hitting the floor, his back arching. Louis’ heart rate began to increase wildly, but he sat pretty, trying to stay cool even as his teeth dug into his lip. Before he could process it, Harry’s teeth were on his thigh, his face mostly obstructed by the skirt. 

“Couldn’t take you home to mother in a skirt that short,” Harry mused, and Louis giggled, nervous and wild. It certainly wasn’t their first time together, but it was their first time they had done anything like this, anything wild. It was the first time he felt Harry’s tongue and damp breath on his sensitive skin through lace, the first time Harry’s mouth was full and his head disappeared beneath the fabric of a skirt. 

It certainly wasn’t the last time, though.


End file.
